


My Only One

by AMac0218



Category: Carnival Row (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-11-01 22:07:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20522837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMac0218/pseuds/AMac0218
Summary: Philo brings Vignette to Aisling's Flat after they're forced to stay in Carnival Row





	My Only One

**Author's Note:**

> Another one shot that kind of follows my last fic if you read the other one, or it could start off at the end of 1x08
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. If you all keep liking these, I'll keep writing them! I swear I'll get better the more I write.

The sun eventually rose on Carnival Row, dew hanging off of the barbed wire that now criss-crossed between the roofs of all the buildings. The New Order had begun, and it was an order that forced the those who were not human to stay captive on the Row. 

Philo and Vignette had taken up refuge in a room inside the Tetterby Hotel and managed to shut out the world for a night. As the darkness of the night bled away, the pair were still wrapped up in each other’s arms, just as they had been when they laid together, unable to let each other go.

He woke up first, his eyes slowly opening, Vignette was the first thing he saw. 

Still half asleep he could easily be taken back to her room on Tirnanoc. He could smell the mist and moss that hung in the air mixed with the old pages of the books that filled her shelves. He could almost feel the cool breeze that drifted in through her window. A smile curled the corners of his lips as he reached out and cupped her cheek in his hand, fingers curling at the back of her neck. He brushed the pad of his over her cheek.

Sadly, sleep faded with the morning, and his vision started to clear and he remembered where they were. 

He was brought back to the room in the Tetterby. He saw the tattered wallpaper, the rumpled sheets they’d fallen asleep on still fully clothed. He could smell the musty old wood that had gotten wet one too many times.

He remembered what happened the day before.

Philo swallowed thickly, his smile falling away but his hand never left her face. His eyes widened as his face became stoic. He wanted to get them somewhere more comfortable. If they were going to be forced to stay in Carnival Row, he wanted them to be somewhere they could have at least a small reminder of the place that brought them together, even if it was at fleeting moments between sleep and awake.

Vignette slowly started to wake up, stretching just a little before her legs curled up and she reached for his wrist, her fingers wrapping around it, her thumb moved along the back of his hand. 

No words were said. 

They weren't needed.

They spent a few long moments just looking at each other, trying to categorize the differences that were now etched in their faces that hadn’t been there the last time they shared a bed. He looked older, his face weathered, a scar running down the side of his cheek to his jaw that she now traced. She looked the same, just a beautiful as the day he’d left. 

The years they’d spent apart, the traumas they’d suffered, the sorrow they’d felt shown in both of their eyes.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her brow, holding there as he breathed her in, his nose pressed to the crown of her head. His forehead took the place of his lips, their faces so close together their visions blurred. 

“I want to take you somewhere,” his voice a whisper.

“Where?” she was just as quiet.

He shook his head in response and slowly sat up, his hand holding hers now as he laced their fingers. “Home.” 

They left the Tetterby and made their way through the almost empty streets. The residents, old and new, had managed to find shelter, and those that hadn’t found alleyways. He ignored the people though, until he was brought up short, causing him to almost grunt at the abrupt stop. He turned and looked at Vignette whose eyes settled on someone huddled up against a building. 

“Afissa?” she called, almost jumping when the Puck moved a little too quickly, almost like she was afraid someone was going to hurt her. “It’s alright,” she said, letting go of Philo’s hand to hold them out in front of her. “It’s me…” 

Afissa shivered, trying to pull her damp clothing closer to keep her warm. “I told the guards I was born here but they didn’t care….I served the Spurnrose family for two generations...and it didn’t matter.”

“I know. It’s alright…” Vignette looked back at Philo, her eyes pleading him. Wherever they were going, she wanted to take Afissa. “Please,” she asked, her dark eyebrows turning into almost ‘u’s like she was begging him to let her come, even though there was no need to.

“Of course,” he gave her a reassuring smile. 

Afissa hesitated, “He was taken by the Constables...said he killed Aisling Querelle.”

“He didn’t kill anyone…” she shook her head. “I promise...All he’s done is try to find justice for-,” Vignette caught herself.

“For my mother,” he finished for her. Afissa already knew, though the Fae had no idea of knowing that. “I didn’t hurt her...I didn’t hurt any of them.”

“Afissa please...come with us. We’ll get you somewhere warm...somewhere safe,” she said as she reached forward and helped pick her up off the cold ground onto her feet. 

Vignette turned back to Philo who nodded once before he reached for her hand again and led them down the street. He eventually turned a corner and went down an alleyway that was strewn with hay on the ground, vines growing up the side of the building. He went up a set of stairs to the third floor. To apartment number 16.

He put the key into the lock and pushed open the door, relieved that no one had forced their way in and looted. 

He stepped inside, his eyes going immediately to the old framed photo that he’d rehung on the wall. Vignette and Afissa came in after him. “We can stay here,” he nodded. “Afissa, there’s a bed in that room if you want to sleep for a while...I don’t imagine you got much last night.” He gestured over to the room as she thanked him and Vignette over and over, cupping the Fae’s face before heading inside and closing the door.

He went about starting the small fire heater in the room to try and warm the flat up before he lit a couple of candles.

“Where are we Philo?” she asked when they were alone.

He stood up straight when he was finished, blowing out the wood he’d used to light everything, then went over to the voxograph. He’d left the cylinder where it was the last time he’d been here, and decided to rewind. He reached under it and flicked the switch, the song Aisling had written for him flooding the room with the quiet eerie tune. 

“My mother’s…” he answered as he turned to her, giving her a sad half smile. The words seemed to almost knock Vignette over as her chest heaved, her eyes becoming glassy a she looked around. There were traces of Faerie culture from across the Great Main Ocean. 

Vignette reached up and touched shells from the coast of Anoun, that hung in a spiral patterns from the ceiling by the door, then the dream catchers that hung at the window. She touched the deep blue fabrics that divided the kitchen area from the sitting area, the vines that were twined about the ceiling. 

The Faerie turned and froze when she saw the hanging prints on the wall. The canvas backing was faded yellow and framed by delicate lace, lovingly put inside of a dark wood frame. The glass had recently cleaned of any dust. Her eyes traced the two tiny hands, and then she focused on what was above them. Two additional ink prints. Two small wings. 

_ Philo’s _ wings. 

Her heart lurched in her chest as her throat constricted.

She didn’t need confirmation, she already knew. She could feel it.

Slowly Vignette made her way over to the hanging and reached up but stilled, not getting any closer. She wanted to touch the picture so badly, wanted to touch the pieces of Philo that would have made him whole. But she couldn’t. How could she? As much as she wanted to touch them, she felt as if she would be touching on something sacred. 

She heard Philo step up behind her, his chest almost touching her back as he raised his own arm, his hand dwarfing hers as his fingers curling around it before he laced them with hers, palm to the back of her hand. He turned his head, doing his best to stay focused on her face from the angle he was at. 

He pulled her hand up and set it gently against the frame. 

When Vignette’s thumb slid along the glass, tracing the arch of the small right wing, Philo closed his eyes, shivering as if he could feel the caress against his skin. His breath was choppy against her ear and he swallowed thickly, leaning closer to her. 

The Faerie reached backward, curling her arm around his head, fingers going into his hair as she held his face to the crook of her neck where he’d set it. Her head moved and she kissed whatever she could, the side and bridge of his nose, his brow, the curve of his jaw. “Philo…” she said his name again as she turned in his arms, her own going up and around his neck to hug him. 

“She used to sing this to me...every night when I was in the Foundling’s home when I was asleep,” he murmured, eyes closed as he held her against him, his own arms wrapped around her waist, keeping her close. “But I remember,” he paused. “I remember waking up and seeing a shadow out of the open window, but I never went to look…I should’ve looked. I should’ve-”

“Shh, you couldn’t’ve known,” she reassured him. “You were just a boy...a boy who was forced to hide who he was…None of this was your fault, Philo." She turned her head and ghosted her lips over his temple, pressing her nose against him as she breathed in. "And you found your way back to her,” she told him. She wanted to make him feel every ounce of love she felt for him. Every ounce she wished he'd had growing up. Her eyes were squeezed shut as she listened to the words of the song. “She would be so _proud_ of the man you’ve become,” she said against his ear.

Philo’s throat tightened up as his arms tightened around Vignette, his face buried in the crook of her neck. He managed one breath in before his shoulders started to shake as he cried quietly into the fabric of her jacket. Vignette ran her fingers through his hair as she held him as Aisling’s song played on.


End file.
